Demons of the Past
by Nyiestra
Summary: The past returns with a vengeance, and Sam and Josh both find themselves running for cover.
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** Demons of the Past

**Summary:** The past returns with a vengeance, and Sam and Josh both find themselves running for cover.

**Warning:** Deals with adult subject matter

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Chapter 1

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"What's next?" Bartlet asked, effectively closing the book on the education debate – for now, anyway. Josh had little doubt that Toby would dredge it back up any number of times between now and, he glanced at his watch, three o'clock or so. _Let's see how many times it gets mentioned in the next four hours._

Leo glanced his way, and he cleared his throat. This wasn't going to be an easy one to talk about, for so many reasons. "California," he replied, struggling not to look in Sam's direction.

"California?" the President echoed quizzically, raising an eyebrow in the Deputy Chief of Staff's direction. "Don't be so specific, Josh. Make me guess sometimes."

Josh rolled his eyes. "What was one kidnapping two weeks ago was six by the end of last week, and is up to thirteen now. All kids, ages five to eleven."

Bartlet frowned. "Why haven't I heard about this before?"

"Because it was just a law enforcement issue before," Leo answered. "Something for us to keep an eye on but not get involved. Now…well…" he trailed off, shrugging.

The President's frown deepened. "Tell me more," he murmured, eyes traveling over each of their faces.

"The kids are being returned to their parents as soon as the parents pay the ransom, usually within three days," Josh answered. "But every one of them has been abused to the point that they're afraid to come near anyone, mother or father. Some physical abuse, but mostly, ah, sexual," he finished, eyes on the floor.

Bartlet's face was a mask of surprise. "Thirteen children? Have they all been returned to their parents by now?"

"All except the two who disappeared yesterday, and one whose parents got the police involved," Leo told him.

"Does the FBI know anything?" he asked softly.

"Not enough, sir." CJ cast a quick glance at her briefing notes. "They know that more than one person is responsible, and they think that the kidnappings are all related, but that's as far as they've gotten."

"And you're bringing this to me now because…?" He raised an eyebrow. "I don't see that there's anything I can do." But Josh could see that it pained him to admit his helplessness in the matter.

Josh and CJ exchanged glances and then both looked at Toby, who glowered in response. "We think you should issue a public statement condemning those involved," Josh explained. Before the Communications Director could say a word, Josh spoke for him. "Toby disagrees."

Bartlet glanced at Toby, clearly trying to discern what the man would have against the idea. "The Republican leadership will paint it as political posturing. It'll look like a campaign move. It's not a matter of state, and it remains," he paused and looked quickly at Leo, "a law enforcement issue. Leave it to the FBI. Once they've resolved the issue, come forward and praise them for a job well done."

Jed cast a sideways glance at the Deputy and Chief of Staff. "He has a point. Outside the FBI, the federal government doesn't absolutely need to become involved."

"Yes, it does," Sam said forcefully. "With all due respect, sir, you may be the head of the federal government, but you're also a representative of every person in this country, whether they voted for you or not, and you owe it to your constituents to show them support. For these families who are losing their children – and they ARE losing their children, because those kids are not coming back the same kids they were when they left – it would mean the world just to hear you say a few words now to show that you know what's happening to them and that you actually care."

He turned to Toby. "Screw the leadership. Think about how the people of California will see it. Stop thinking like a politician for once, and think like an actual human being. The people won't see it as a political move, and the Republicans won't be able to skew it that way, not to them, the families. They'll see it as a show of compassion, which SOME people in this building seem to be sorely lacking."

Just as suddenly as the words had poured forth from his lips, they stopped, and he looked exhausted. "I…I'm sorry," he stammered, his face pale. "Pl…please, excuse me," he mumbled before practically running from the office, leaving Josh, CJ, Toby, and Leo staring at each other, and the President staring after the Deputy Communications Director.

"What, exactly, just happened?" Toby asked, eyes fixed on Josh.

Josh shifted uncomfortably. _If you only knew_, he thought to himself. But no way was he going to give Toby a real answer. "You know how he gets. He takes these things personally." He paused. "I'll go try to talk to him." He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Give me a little time and, ah, don't come down too hard on him for that, huh?" His gaze traveled back and forth between Leo, Toby, and the President.

"Tell him I'd like to speak to him, Josh," Bartlet said softly.

Josh frowned, unsure of why the President wanted to talk to the speechwriter. But his eyes showed concern rather than annoyance or anger, so Josh just nodded and left to search out Sam.

He headed to the speechwriter's office first, but – surprise of surprises – he wasn't there. Standing in the doorway for a moment, he decided to check the restrooms in the West Wing. They made good hiding places.

Sure enough, he found him in the men's room, leaning over the sink, looking sick to his stomach. "Sam?" he asked softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. The younger man didn't acknowledge him at all, so Josh shook him gently. "Sam? You all right?"

Finally, he seemed to return to Earth. "Uh, yeah, I'm all right. Sorry I kinda lost it in there. Is Leo pissed?"

Josh shook his head. "No. Neither is the President, actually. I think they're worried about you. Bartlet wants to talk to you, though."

Sam sighed. "I guessed he would. Right now?"

"I think so…he didn't really say, just to tell you he wanted to talk to you." Josh paused. "Sam, is this because of…?" He couldn't say the words.

"What do you think?" Sam shook his head. "It's not only that. Toby really made me angry. When did we forget that Americans actually can think for themselves, and that most of them don't give a damn what the leadership in Congress say?"

It was, unfortunately, a more than fair question, and one Josh didn't have an answer to. "When we got elected?" he guessed. Then he shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know, Sam."

He studied his friend. The younger man needed to talk – that was plain to see – but he knew Sam well enough by now to know that there was no use in trying to convince him to open up. Sam would talk if and when he wanted to, and not sooner than that. Maybe he'd talk to Bartlet. Stranger things had happened. "Go see the President, Sam. I'll be around after."

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Sam walked slowly through the corridor, eyes fixed on the floor, struggling to straighten out the thoughts that were running rampant through his head. He'd never been good at thinking when he was upset, and he didn't want to be babbling nonsense when he spoke to the President.

"He's waiting for you," Charlie told him before Sam could say so much as a word.

"I figured." He took a deep breath before opening the door to the Oval Office and stepping inside.

"Sam, come in," Bartlet greeted him, standing as the door opened and waving him toward a chair. "Have a seat, son."

Hesitantly, Sam walked in, stopping behind the couch. He didn't sit. He wasn't sure he could. "I…I wanted to apologize for my outburst earlier, sir. I was out of line."

Bartlet waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, Sam. Sit down, though, will you?" he asked, repeating the request in a tone that told Sam that he would be there for a while.

Slowly, he came around the couch and took a seat facing the President. "Is…something wrong, sir?" he asked, thanking God that he'd managed those few words coherently.

"I would think that there was, and I think I know what it is." Bartlet eyed him carefully.

Sam shrank back a bit, a puzzled expression on his face. "I'm not following, sir," he murmured, though he thought he had a good idea of where the President was going with this conversation.

"I haven't led you anywhere, Sam. Not yet." He paused. "Bear with me for a moment. I've decided to take your advice on what's happening in California, and here's why. I believe you were speaking from experience." He paused again. "Am I wrong, Sam?"

Sam didn't answer. He could feel the blood drain from his face. "I…I don't know…I don't know what you're talking about, sir." It was an obvious lie and Sam knew the President could see through him like glass, but he couldn't manage anything else. He could barely keep his brain functioning.

"Sam, I recall reading about a kidnapping in Orange County some fifteen or twenty years ago. It was in the national news and I was starting out in politics so I paid attention to those types of things. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Sam swallowed hard, but didn't speak. He couldn't speak. Trust the President to remember something so obscure as that.

Bartlet pressed on. "Sam, did you know the victim then?"

Sam stared at him, willing his hands not to shake. "Me."


	2. Chapter 2

I apologize in advance...the last scene got a little odd, but it did it all on its own. Just kinda happened that way...

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Chapter 2

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They sat in silence for a moment, Bartlet unsure of how to respond, and Sam clearly unwilling to say anymore. Jed called Charlie in to bring Sam a glass of water and watched as the younger man stared into the glass.

After taking a few sips, Sam finally regained his composure enough to speak. "I dealt with it a long time ago, sir. I spent more than five years in therapy afterward. I've never gotten over it, but I've dealt with it. This morning…well, it's just that things like that still get to me, and the way Toby was treating it was a little too much for me. I apologize for losing my cool."

Jed shook his head. Of all the things for the kid to think about at the moment. "Don't worry about it, Sam. I would like you to tell me about it, however. Just…what you can."

"There's not much to say. The kidnappers requested a ransom, and my parents refused to just pay it and be done with it. They got the police involved in it, so the kidnappers kept me for nearly six months, until the police finally caught up with them. It wasn't a fun time."

Sarcasm…Sam's most classic defense mechanism. Jed fought the urge to shake his head. "What happened to you?"

"When I was with them?" Bartlet nodded and after a moment the speechwriter replied, "The same thing that's happening to those kids." His voice was so soft that Jed could barely hear him, and his eyes were fixed on the floor.

"I see." He was silent for a moment before asking, "How did you deal with what happened?"

"Other than running up therapy bills and being afraid of my father?" Sam asked, looking up and raising an eyebrow. He went on without waiting for a response. "I, ah, I had a lot of trouble, actually. I drank pretty heavily when I was in high school. College too, and law school."

"Drugs?"

The other man looked down again, fixated on his hands. "In high school, and the beginning of college. But once I could drink legally, it was mostly alcohol. I never went through AA and I don't consider myself an alcoholic, because I never felt like I NEEDED to drink…I just wanted it. When I realized it was a problem – that was toward the end of law school – I was able to stop without difficulty. Now, I try to only drink socially, but sometimes…well, let's just say it amazes me that Leo's been able to go so long in his job without a drink. Sometimes that's the only thing that can help me relax at the end of the day." He raised his eyes and almost cracked a smile.

"If you went by technical definitions, I think that the only person working in this building – this city, really – who isn't an alcoholic would be Mrs. Landingham," the President said. Then he leaned forward conspiratorially, whispering, "And I'm not even sure about her." As he sat back, he winked.

The comment brought a real smile to Sam's face and Jed smiled inwardly, satisfied with his success. He elected to change the focus of their conversation from Sam's own past to what was happening in California now. "Sam, I've already said I want to take your advice on the situation in California. I also want to keep up on what's happening. I want to know numbers every day until it's resolved, and I want to know what the FBI is doing about it. I'd like for you to be in charge of that, provided you're willing."

Sam looked surprised. "Of course, sir."

"All right. I'd like to speak to someone from the FBI this afternoon, preferably someone who actually knows something. Talk to Mrs. Landingham about when I'm free, will you? And would you plan to sit in on the meeting? If Toby has a problem, tell him to stuff it."

Sam nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

"All right; I'll see you later, Sam. And if you need anything, let me know."

Jed watched him rise, looked into the haunted eyes once more, and felt badly for a moment for bringing up such a painful past. But he didn't feel badly enough to regret it. "Yes, sir," Sam repeated as he turned to leave.

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By what Sam could only call a miracle, he made it back to his office without completely losing his composure. He reached for the phone the moment he sat down, intending to call the D.C. Field Office for the Bureau, but instead his fingers dialed the direct number to Josh's office. "Yeah?" the Deputy Chief of Staff answered distractedly.

"I told him."

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So much for distraction. Those three simple words and Sam had Josh's full attention. "You told him?"

"He knew. Somehow, he knew." Sam's voice was shaking. "I told him everything. The ransom, the abuse, the therapy, the drinking, the drugs. I told him everything," he repeated.

"I'll be right there." Josh hung up the phone quickly, jumping out of his chair. He tossed a file at Donna as practically ran past her desk, ignore her annoyed yelp. When he reached Sam's office, he saw that the other man was still holding on to the phone. No, not holding. Clinging was probably a better choice of words. "Sam?" Josh called his name gently. "You can hang up now." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Sam looked up at Josh, startled by his words. His gaze traveled from the phone in his hand to the man in the doorway, confusion written all over his face. Josh walked the rest of the way into the office, kneeling beside Sam's chair. When the speechwriter gave no sign of moving, Josh reached over and took the phone from the other man's hand, resting it on the cradle. "Feel like talking?"

"Not really," Sam responded hollowly, shaking his head repeatedly.

Josh just stared at his friend for a moment. Sam's face was pale, and his eyes dull. As Josh studied him, he stared back vacantly, as if he wasn't really seeing Josh at all. A moment later, though, he shook his head, and the strange look in his eyes was gone. "Sorry, I must have spaced out for a minute. What were you saying?"

"Sam?" Josh shook his head. "That's it. You're going home."

The speechwriter looked taken aback. "No, I don't. I have a meeting with someone and the President this afternoon."

Staring incredulously, Josh echoed, "**Someone** and the President? Sam, do you even know what you're talking about?" He'd known Sam to be vague on a regular basis, but that was a little much even for him.

"Yes, I do," he replied, sounding irritated. "I have to arrange a meeting with someone from the FBI. I said someone because I won't know specifically who we're meeting with until I call and set up the meeting."

"Why someone from the FBI?" Josh asked, relieved that Sam was making sense again.

"The President wants to talk to somebody about California. He wants to know everything they're doing, and how things are looking out there. He wants us monitoring it, and he asked me be in charge of that."

That could be a good thing or a very, very bad thing. "What made him go our way instead of Toby's?"

Sam looked at him, eyes once again dark with barely concealed emotion. "Me, I think."

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Sam led the agent, a woman named Stephanie Lewis, through the halls of the West Wing and stopped by Charlie's desk. "Is he—"

"I'll tell him you're here," the young man said, standing and walking to the door to the Oval Office. As he opened it, Sam heard him say "Sam's here, Mr. President." He heard Bartlet answer back, but couldn't make out the words, and then Charlie nodded and turned around. "You can go in," he told them as he walked back to his desk.

Sam nodded and motioned for Stephanie to precede him into the office. "Mr. President, this is Special Agent Stephanie Lewis. She's the liaison for the San Diego office, which is the field office that's handling most of the leg work."

Bartlet held a hand out to her, and she returned the gesture. "Honored to meet you, sir, though I wish it was under different circumstances."

"As do I," he replied. "Have a seat." He sat down on one of the couches as they took the other. "Tell me what you know."

She smoothed out her skirt. "Very little, unfortunately. The children who have been released know nothing. All they can tell us is that they drove around for hours in a car with leather seats. They were blindfolded and kept in a windowless room. When they were returned to their parents, they were blindfolded, driven around for hours, and dropped off in an alley, always near a police station, hospital, fire department, or school. Each child whose parents have cooperated has been returned within 72 hours of the ransom being delivered."

"And what happens to the children while they're being held?" Bartlet asked.

Sam drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. This was the part he didn't want to hear. He could just envision himself breaking down in the Oval Office, in front of the President. If that happened he thought he'd go home and shoot himself.

It wasn't like the thought had never crossed his mind before.

He shook himself out of those thoughts in time to catch most of what Stephanie was saying. "—blindfolded, again, the entire time. The men who beat them or otherwise assaulted them rarely spoke."

"Assaulted," Bartlet repeated. "You're referring to sexual assault?"

"Yes." Stephanie nodded and Sam caught a glimpse of pain in her eyes. "There are physical and emotional signs that the children have been molested, repeatedly in most cases. Those that have been willing – or able – to talk to medical staff have described different forms of abuse, in varying degrees of detail."

"All right. Agent…"

"Lewis," Sam supplied.

"Agent Lewis, I'd like to issue a statement of support to those families who've been affected by these kidnappings. I'd also like to keep abreast of what's going on. Would you be so kind as to work with Sam on a statement – make sure he gets the facts straight and that the statement doesn't say anything it shouldn't?"

"Of course, sir."

"And also keep him informed, so he can keep me informed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think you could also make sure he eats and sleeps?"

"Sir?" The agent raised an eyebrow as Sam felt his face redden.

"Well, my staff…certain of them in particular…have a habit of forgetting that such things as food and rest are important. If you could…"

"Mr. President," Sam protested weakly.

"Have you eaten since we spoke?" Sam felt his face grow even warmer, and Bartlet smiled smugly. "My point. So, if you could, even just while you were working, make sure he swallows a…a jellybean, or something."

"A jellybean, Mr. President?" Sam echoed, not quite certain that this conversation wasn't ENTIRELY a figment of his imagination.

"Well, something…it was the first thing I could think of," the President replied defensively.

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Have you been taking your back medication again, Mr. President?"

"I have not." He looked quite offended. "I just need someone to make fun of once in a while, Sam. Mrs. Landingham is always on my case…I need a target of my own."

Sam looked down at the folder in his hands, trying not to laugh, especially considering it would be at his own expense. "Thank you, Mr. President."


End file.
